


The Family Resemblance

by SingingInTheRaiin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Gen, Gertrude is Jon's grandmother, M/M, Martin and Jon both have some trauma and are in need of comfort, apologies for past behavior, directly after episode 40
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27122950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingInTheRaiin/pseuds/SingingInTheRaiin
Summary: In the aftermath of Jane Prentiss, Martin learns that Jon isn't just frightened by the death of Gertrude Robinson, but is devastated by it. And Martin is determined to not let Jon suffer through his grief alone.
Relationships: Gertrude Robinson & Jonathan "Jon" Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 164





	The Family Resemblance

When all was said and done, Martin didn’t really know what to do with himself. He was still in shock from finding a dead body (a murdered dead body, specifically), he felt guilty for how injured Tim and Jon had gotten when Martin had accidentally left them behind, and he felt jumpy at the thought that maybe Jane Prentiss wasn’t actually dead, and would be back for him.

But even with all of that going on, he couldn’t help but notice Jon (it seemed impossible for Martin to ever not notice Jon, if he was being honest with himself). Jon was brushing aside the paramedics and looking around at everyone else with suspicion written clearly across his face. But it wasn’t just that. Suspicion was something that Martin could at least understand in this situation.

There was something else on Jon’s face too, though (and no, he wasn’t talking about the bandages that were hiding the many worm induced wounds). If Martin had to take a guess, he’d say that Jon looked… sad. There were a lot of emotions that Martin would be able to understand at the moment, but he wasn’t sure why Jon seemed so sad. Everyone had made it out of the Institute safely, and he and Tim had gotten the worst of the injuries allotted for the day. So why was he just… sad?

,,,

Martin nervously shuffled home once the police were done asking him questions about Gertrude’s body. He’d half-expected for Jon to start interrogating everyone too, but Elias had told him to go home, and the fight had gone right out of him. Martin had been tempted to offer… something, but no, that would have been stupid. Jon probably had a much nicer flat than Martin did, and the last thing he needed was someone hanging around and making it difficult for him to relax. 

But as he stood just outside the front door to his place, he realized that whatever he might have offered would have been more for his comfort than for Jon’s. He hadn’t been back here in months, not since Jon had offered him the cot in the document storage room. 

Just the idea of going in, of seeing all the plugged up windows and openings and empty cans of peaches- or worse, seeing worm corpses everywhere- was enough to make his heart start pounding faster in his chest. He was vaguely aware of the odd look one of his neighbors gave him as they walked past to get to their own apartment, but Martin didn’t have the energy to focus on them, not even to stutter out an awkward apology or greeting.

Before he even knew what he was doing, his phone was pressed against his ear, and the ringing sound seemed to stretch on forever before it was finally answered. Jon sounded simultaneously exhausted and alert. “Martin? What’s going on? Did something happen?” 

He suddenly felt bad for calling and disturbing Jon, who’d either been trying to go to sleep, or more likely, trying to get some more work done at home. But it would be even more awkward for him to just hang up now, and besides that, would probably worry Jon. Not that he thought Jon would be worried about  _ him _ , of course, but Jon wasn’t an emotionless robot, and he did care about people in the general sense. 

He realized how long Jon was just sitting there listening to him breathing, and Martin cleared his throat. “No, nothing- it’s uh- nothing has happened. Nothing else has happened,” he corrected after a moment. It would be hard for anyone to claim that nothing at all had happened today. “I was just uh… I…” He’d already called, so he might as well go through with it, right? Either Jon would say yes or no, and then Martin could hang up, and that would be the end of that. “I’m not sure I’m ready to go home,” he finally said in a rushed out whisper.

There was a long pause, and it wouldn’t be unreasonable for Jon to ask why the hell Martin had called him of all people to say that. But maybe today had shaken Jon up as much as everyone else, because instead he said, “You know my address?”

“Yeah.” It had been given to him by Tim at one point, meant to be used for some kind of prank or another, almost too far back to remember now even though realistically it had been less than a year. 

“Good,” Jon said in his usual brusk voice, though it wasn’t too difficult to pick up on the slight tremors beneath the usual confidence. “You may as well come over then.” Martin almost hung up then, but was glad that he didn’t, because it meant that he heard the soft, “I’m- I’m glad that you’re alright.” Then Jon hung up first, and Martin was left standing there in front of his flat alone, but he didn’t feel quite as alone as he had just a few minutes ago.

Since he didn’t even want to go inside long enough to grab any of his things, Martin decided to just turn around and head straight back out of the apartment building. He had to just sit in his car for a minute as he searched through old texts for Jon’s address, then put it into the GPS and headed off. His arms shook slightly as he drove, but it wasn’t bad enough that it was dangerous to himself or other drivers, so he kept going.

It took a surprisingly short amount of time to reach Jon’s place, though Martin wasn’t sure if that was because they actually lived closer together than he’d thought, or if it was just because he’d been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t paid attention to the passage of time.

Either way, he was here now. He headed up to the second floor, and knocked gently on Jon’s door. “Who’s there?” 

Now that there was only a single door between them, it was easier to hear just how utterly exhausted Jon was, and Martin felt another tinge of guilt for barging in on him. “Er, it’s me. Martin. From the Institute.” Then he immediately squeezed his eyes shut and silently berated himself for adding the last part. Of course he was from the Institute, how many Martins did he think Jon knew?

But he didn’t have much time to keep questioning all of his life choices, because the door opened just enough for Jon to peer out at him, and then opened enough for Martin to squeeze in. Despite the circumstances, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling curious about the place Jon lived in. Even from just inside, he could already tell that it was nothing like he might have imagined. There were precariously balanced stacks of books and papers everywhere, dirty mugs lining the coffee table in front of the sofa, various pieces of clothing and odds and ends scattered across the floor. 

Jon followed the direction Martin’s eyes had gone in, then sighed. “Sorry about the mess. I don’t usually get many visitors.” He shuffled over to the sofa and began gathering things up in his arms, which he then promptly shoved onto a chair that was barely possible to see because of how much stuff was piled up on it and hanging off it. “Want something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Water?”

Martin still remembered the one and only time he’d accidentally taken a sip from Jon’s mug. There had been so much sugar in it that it was like drinking a cup of wet sand, and so much cream that there was barely a hint of flavor. Martin still wasn’t sure to this day what kind of tea was supposed to be in there (or even if it was meant to be tea at all). “I can make it,” he eagerly offered. 

Instead of getting weirdly offended about it, Jon just shrugged one shoulder, then nodded towards a doorway that had no door in it. “Kitchen’s that way. I’ll go grab some blankets and pillows.”

Martin headed into the kitchen, which was just as full as the living room, with dirty dishes filling the sink and more papers and books covering the small table. There was no way to refill the electric kettle without knocking over some plates, so Martin decided that he may as well wash them and stack them next to the sink. With that done, he refilled the kettle and set it to boil. Then he began opening cabinets and drawers in a search for some tea. 

The state of Jon’s kitchen did not seem to bode well. The freezer held a few microwave dinners that were covered in so much ice they were surely freezer burned. The fridge held only a jar of pickles, a jar that was labelled as grape jam but was clearly strawberry, a mostly empty box of almond milk, and a couple of eggs. The cabinets had an unopened jar of peanut butter, instant noodles, and a few boxes of tea. And that was it. 

It wasn’t his place to judge Jon, especially not when the man was being nice enough to let him spend the night, but he couldn’t help the way his stomach knotted up in concern. Then there was a click from the kettle to signal it was finished, and Martin grabbed a bag of Earl Grey and a bag of peppermint tea. He took two mugs from the stack of things he’d just cleaned, and made the tea.

When it was done, he brought both mugs back out to the living room. There were no coasters in sight, so he had to settle for putting them directly onto what little space remained on the coffee table. There was also no bedding on the couch yet, despite several minutes having passed, and Martin went to search for Jon. He couldn’t stop thinking about the million and one terrible things that could have happened in the past few minutes.

It didn’t take long to find Jon, since Martin could see through an open door that Jon was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at a picture frame. There was a messily folded blanket and pillow next to him, like he’d been holding them until he’d gotten distracted and sat down. He was holding the photo tightly enough that his knuckles looked almost white. Martin cleared his throat, but when there was no immediate reaction, he risked taking a couple steps forward, though he stopped right in the doorway, not wanting to intrude in Jon’s bedroom. “Tea’s done. I made you some too, though you might not be satisfied with the measly two spoonfuls of sugar I put in.” He wanted to get even a slight chuckle out of Jon, but apparently Jon really wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

He let out a long sigh, then finally looked up at Martin. He continued to tightly clutch the picture frame in his hands. “I suppose it doesn’t even matter anymore.”

Martin waited, but when no more words came after several long seconds, he gently prompted, “What doesn’t?”

Jon sighed again. “We agreed not to tell anybody. Didn’t want anyone thinking that I got that position in the research department through nepotism.” Then he carefully held up the photo, arms trembling slightly. Martin finally entered the room, and walked close enough to get a better look at the picture in question. His eyes widened slightly as he took it in. It was a picture of Gertrude Robinson, still alive, sitting in front of a slightly clumsily decorated cake with a candle that said ‘100’ in what was most likely meant to be a joke. Her lips were twitched up in what almost seemed like a genuine smile, and Jon was sitting right next to her, a serious frown on his face as he was obviously mid-sentence when the picture had been taken. “Can’t you see the resemblance?” Jon asked quietly.

Martin blinked a few times. To be honest, he didn’t see any familiarities between Jon and Gertrude, at least in terms of their appearances. But he could clearly see them in that picture, celebrating a birthday together. And it was also undeniable that they both looked much younger in that picture. It had to have been taken several years ago, possibly even before Jon came to work at the Institute. “She was your…?” Martin trailed off, unsure of how to finish that question without being rude.

Jon gulped as he looked down at the picture, eyes clearly tracing over Gertrude’s face over and over. “Grandmother,” he filled in after just a short pause. “She took me in after my parents died, when I was a kid. Raised me herself.”

Martin blinked a few times before a new question popped into his mind. “Jon, earlier you said that you needed to pretend that none of it was real so that you could protect yourself, but how could you even pretend that when your guardian’s been working in a place like the Institute, probably for at least as long as you’ve been alive? I mean, was all of that just fake all along?”

Jon shook his head. “No, what I said was the truth. And honestly, it’s not like she went out of her way to tell me about her job. I don’t think she wanted me to have too much exposure, so for the longest time, I just thought she was essentially a librarian, and I must’ve assumed she worked at some normal library for most of my life.” There was a haunted look on his face for a moment, but he shook it off before Martin could ask about it. “Since I got this stupid promotion to Head Archivist, I kept hoping that maybe it was all just a mistake. Maybe she’d just taken off on a business trip and got stuck somewhere, or even just left on another adventure without a word. It was stupid, but I’d hoped… but now she’s gone for sure. Dead. Shot. Not only is my career position probably cursed, but my only family left is…” he trailed off, then suddenly flopped back and stared up at the ceiling, practically cuddling the picture frame against his chest.

Martin had never been the best in situations where he needed to comfort others, but his own chest ached at the thought of just leaving Jon like this. He moved forward a little more, and when Jon didn’t say anything to stop him, he sat down next to him. Then he realized he’d sat right on top of the blanket and pillow Jon had pulled out, and had to shift around to make sure he wasn’t balanced precariously on any linens. 

Once he was settled, he laid back as well, shoulder to shoulder with Jon as they both looked up at the ceiling. Martin opened his mouth to try and say something that might magically help with Jon’s grief, but surprised himself when what came out was, “Why do you have lizards on your ceiling?”

That seemed to startle a small laugh out of Jon as he gazed at his own ceiling. “They eat spiders,” he murmured, like it was some great revelation.

Martin tilted his head slightly to the side. “But those are just paintings. You know that paintings won’t actually deal with a pest problem, right?”

Jon reached up, like he wanted to trace his fingers over the many different lizards painted above them, though of course he couldn’t reach, and carelessly dropped his hand back down. When it landed on the bed, Jon’s pinky overlapped with a few of Martin’s fingers, and the spots where their skin touched felt so warm that it nearly burned. “I’m not too fond of spiders,” he admitted. “Georgie offered to paint the lizards for me. Said they were excellent predators of spiders and would surely keep me safe.”

After a few moments passed in silence, Martin couldn’t help raising one slightly judgemental eyebrow. “So you’re not fond of spiders, and you do actually believe in the supernatural, but you won’t admit that there’s any possibility of ghost spiders?”

There was a look of confusion on Jon’s face for just a moment before he sighed and closed his eyes. “The circumstances of that statement were certainly… odd,” he allowed. “But honestly, I’m not in the mood to talk about spiders, or worms, or any other kind of bug tonight.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “But lizards do eat worms too, just so you know.”

That made warmth flare up in his chest, at the thought that this was Jon’s own bizarre way of trying to comfort Martin. “Good to know,” he whispered back. He took the opportunity to carefully look at Jon’s face, not usually allowed such a close-up view. Of course most of it was blocked by bandages, but there was no disguising just how tired he was. Then Martin closed his eyes as well, just for a moment. He’d stay here for just another moment, then he’d get up and move to the couch.

,,,

Martin wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, but he woke up still on Jon’s bed, feet still touching the floor. It was honestly surprising that he’d made it through the night without a single bad dream that he could recall. He groaned slightly as he got up and looked around, and saw that he was alone in the room. He cautiously left the bedroom, and spotted Jon on the couch, leaned over with his head in his hands.

Martin approached slowly so as to not startle Jon. “Morning.”

Jon let out an unintelligible grunt before speaking actual words a few moments later. His voice was scratchy and hoarse, and Martin got the feeling that Jon had gotten his crying out of the way while Martin was asleep. “There’s so much I still need to take care of. A proper funeral, and a reading of her will, and clearing out her house, and- and-”

Martin hurried to sit down next to Jon, and reached out to grab the other man’s hand without even thinking about it. He gave a gentle squeeze, mindful of the bandages. “I know this is difficult, but you don’t have to do it alone. My grandfather died a couple years back, and my mum wasn’t much help with anything, so I took care of most of it, and I can help you now. Uh, if you want, I mean. If I’m crossing any lines, though, you can feel free to tell me to back off.”

Jon sighed and slumped back, looking far smaller than usual without his usual attitude to fill the space around them. “I didn’t try to stay in touch as much as I should have after I left for university, but she’s still all I have- all I had left.”

Martin quickly shook his head. “That’s not true. What you said last night, about her being the only family you had left? You were wrong. Tim and Sasha and- and me, we’re all still here. I know it’s not the same, but you’re not alone.”

He felt his cheeks heat up when Jon stared at him, but refused to look away. “You should hate me,” Jon pointed out in a resigned voice. “I’ve treated you like shit ever since we all moved down to the archives.”

“It’s fine-”

“It’s not fine,” Jon interrupted. “No one should treat anyone the way I’ve treated you. You’re not useless, Martin, you’re-” he cut himself off and cleared his throat, then squeezed his eyes shut as he kept talking. “You’re very distracting.”

Martin stared at Jon in confusion, not quite sure what that meant. “What?”

Jon sighed. “Even with the way I’ve treated you, you’d still be around a lot. Imagine how much more often I would have to deal with being distracted if I was actually…”

“A decent human being?” Martin suggested.

Jon nodded. “Yes, that. I’d probably never be able to get any work done.” His cheeks were much darker than usual, flushed with embarrassment. 

It took longer than it probably should have for Martin to actually understand what Jon was saying. “How long have you- have you been distracted by me?”

Jon pulled his feet up onto the couch and then turned sideways so that he could shove his face into the back cushions. “Remember that day you offered me your jacket because I spilled tea on mine?”

Martin felt his eyes widen impossibly large. “That was the day we met!” he squeaked out. He felt so much warmth rushing through him that it took a moment for him to remember that this really wasn’t the appropriate time for this kind of conversation. “Jon, you’re not- I shouldn’t- Gertrude-”

Jon still didn’t pull his hand free from Martin’s, and instead gave a light squeeze in return. “I’m not suggesting anything,” he mumbled into the cushion. “Just… stay? For now?”

“Yeah, I can do that, Jon. I can stay.” Then he scooted just a tinier bit closer so that it would be easy for Jon to accept a hug if he wanted one. If all Jon wanted was for Martin to be there for him, then Martin could definitely do that.

,,,

Martin hesitated in the entrance way to Gertrude’s house. “Are you sure that you want me to come in with you? There might be personal things here, or you might get too emotional, or-”

Jon gave Martin a fond smile that did funny things to Martin’s heart. “That’s exactly why I want you here. I could do it on my own, but I think- I think it might be a bit easier with your help.”

With that, they entered the house, stacks of cardboard boxes tucked under their outer arms while they held hands with the inner ones. Then slowly, carefully, they made their way through packing up Gertrude’s things. Some of it had been left to Jon, while most of it had been specifically requested to be disposed of. They didn’t get through very much at a time, and came back every weekend. Sometimes Tim would come along too, though Sasha was always too busy. But most days, it was just Jon and Martin. 

And it was just the two of them there when they did one last sweep of the empty house, and came across a removable floorboard in the room that had been Gertrude’s study. Inside it was a single, simple, note that read,  _ Jon- Beware EB/JM. The Eye is always watching. _ And that was enough to help them figure things out moving forward. But more importantly, it was enough for Jon to know that no matter what happened, his grandmother had always looked out for him. 

And when everything else weird and crazy and scary was happening, it was enough for Jon to know that he was loved. 


End file.
